


Proper French

by Jay_Wells



Series: The Odd Life of Alexander Hamilton [16]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, French Language v. Creole, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, classism (discussed), racism (discussed)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:07:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Wells/pseuds/Jay_Wells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If a man is not faithful to his own individuality, he cannot be faithful to anything."</p><p>Angie spoke French Creole with her father and brothers at home, so she thought French would be an easy way to pick up a language credit. It wasn’t. By the time mid-term reports were sent home, she was struggling with a C average.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proper French

Angie spoke French Creole with her father and brothers at home, so she thought French would be an easy way to pick up a language credit. It wasn’t. By the time mid-term reports were sent home, she was struggling with a C average. Apparently, “proper French” was not the same as Creole. Ms Smith caught her in the hall and pulled her aside.

“Angelica, you are a bright young woman. You shouldn’t be failing.”

Angie sighed. “But?”

“You aren’t learning French.” Ms. Smith said. “You’re still using that bastardised version you learned as a child. Which of your parents taught you?”

“My dad.” Angie felt like something was wrong with this conversation, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Well, you can your father I’ll take over from here, and you can start over and learn it properly.” Ms. Adams was smiling sweetly. She meant it all kindly, and yet it still sounded very, very wrong.

“Okay, I’ll talk to my parents.” Angie edged away and shuffled her feet. “Uh, I’m gonna miss my bus, so … ”

Ms Adams nodded and she rushed to get to her bus in time. She found Theo waiting for in the back, pressed against the window with her bag covering the remainder of the seat to discourage would-be bus partners. Angie cleared her throat and tossed the bag into Theo’s lap so she could plop down into the seat.

“Hey, Theo, do you think I speak French wrong?” She collapsed against the leather seat in exhaustion.

“How the fuck should I know? I took Spanish. It’s more useful in the states.” Theo adjusted her bag on her lap so that it served as a cushion. “Also, you could say ‘hey’ before you start throwing my stuff at me, you know. It’s sorta Human Interaction 101.”

“I guess I skipped that class. You’re a bad influence.”

Theo snorted at that. “No, your brother is the bad influence. I never skipped ‘til he started taking me out for Starbucks second period. Speaking of which, is your dad wise to that yet?”

“Nope.” Angie shuddered. If her father found out about her and Philip skipping class, he’d skin them alive. “I think I’m going to have to quit that though. Ms. Smith likes me, and I’m already on the downward slope to failing her class. Also, I’m going to run out of excuses for being late.”

“Oh, geez, you have her class?” Theo wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. Otherwise, she’ll get on you about being a proud African-American woman and not shaming ourselves.”

“I don’t get that.” Angie said. “Why do I have to be an ambassador? I’m not even African-American, really. I’m Creole.”

“Yeah, well, they could care less.” Theo rolled her eyes, not really bothering to specify what _they_ meant. “Anyway, I’ll quit too. My dad would be uber-pissed if he found out. Maybe Philip will stop if no one goes with him, and he can go back to being Daddy’s Perfect Little Boy.”

“Hey.” Angie warned. “That’s my brother.”

“Sorry.” Theo said. “Hey, did you hear that Easton is entering the Poetry Slam?”

 

Angie was able to relax for the rest of the ride. She got off at her bus stop to find her frantic older brother in his new car with AJ, rapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Angie, thank God! Hurry up and hop in the car.”

“What’s up?” she asked after she crawled into her brother’s second-hand BMW. She was relieved her brother had come to get her instead of her father, partly because Philip’s car wasn’t about to fall apart and partly because it meant she didn’t have to tell her dad about her C just yet.

“The fuck were you, Ange?! I was supposed to pick you and AJ up from school, remember?” Philip started pulling out. “Jesus, we’re already five minutes late; Mom and Dad are gonna kill me.”

“What are you talking about? I always take the bus, ‘cause no offense, but I like Theo better than you.” she said. “Mom _is_ going to kill you if you keep cussing in front of AJ.”

“Hey!” AJ kicked her seat. “I’m not like Johnny and Will -- they’re dumb enough to repeat it in front of Mom.”

“Seriously, Ange,” Philip groaned, ignoring AJ, “how the hell do you forget your own birthday?”

“Because my birthday was last week?” Angie would have shoved him if he wasn’t driving through rush hour New York traffic. “You remember, Dad almost burnt the house down trying to make me a surprise cake, so Mom ran out and bought a pre-made one from the bakery.”

“Yeah,” AJ chimed in, “but the week before _that_ , Dad asked you what you wanted to do for your birthday, and you said nothing so he got all mopey about you growing up, so you agreed to go out for dinner on the day between your birthday and Will’s, since he’s too little for a real party anyhow.” He stopped briefly to take a breath. “Your birthday was the twenty-fifth. Will’s is the ninth. Today’s the second.”

“Oh.” It was the second. Her family had reservations, and her mother had reminded her that morning as she headed out the door. She’d even mentioned it to Philip at lunch. How could she have forgotten? Suddenly she felt very tired. “Sorry, Philip. I don’t know what happened. It’s just been a really long day.”

Philip sighed. “It’s fine. I know how it is, and Dad knows how it is. Remember the time he came home after working late for five days and just passed out on the couch and he missed couple’s counselling? This is the family of it-was-a-long-day.” He grinned, not taking his eyes off the road. “So spill.”

“I got my midterm back today.” she said.

“So did I.” he said. “All A’s probably.”

“See that’s the thing.” Angie sighed heavily. “I got a C. In French.”

“Ooh, you’re gonna be in trouble.” AJ sing-songed.

Angie flipped him off. “Shut up.”

“I’m telling Mom!”

“No you aren’t.” Philip warned. “Or I’ll tell Mom you watched Zombieland at Harry Morris’s house last weekend and didn’t tell her.” Once AJ could be seen pouting sullenly in the rearview, Philip said, “Go on.”

Angie leaned her seat back. “And I don’t understand. It should be an easy grade -- I speak French every day, and I always know what Ms. Smith’s saying when she speaks French, I know the vocabulary, but I always fail the verbal exams and get B’s on the vocab tests.” She could hear her voice breaking and struggled to keep it together. “And today she told me I spoke French wrong.”

“She _what?_ ” Philip took a sharp left and Angie was slammed into the door.

Angie snapped, and then she was crying. “I don’t know. She called Creole a bastardised version of French, and that I had to start over and learn French properly. She didn’t say it directly, but I think she wants me to stop using it at home. And Dad’s going to be so pissed at me.”

“No, he won’t.” he assured her. “He’s going to be pissed, yeah, but not at you. This is bullshit. You shouldn’t even be required to take a language when you already speak and read French fine. Any native speaker could understand you, you could read signs. You don’t even fucking need French half the fucking time. Fuck them.” The mysterious _they_ was back.

They had arrived at the restaurant almost ten minutes late. Philip turned to Angie. “If you want to clean yourself up, I can call Dad.”

She nodded and flipped down the visor to fix her makeup. Philip was out of the car, pacing, while he dialled their father. It picked up on the second ring. “Dad? Yeah, we’re here.” There was a long pause. “I know, but Angie’s not doing too well -- you want to come out?” He raised both eyebrows at Angie, who shook her head violently. “No, Dad -- Dad. She’s fine. We’ll be in in a minute. Yeah. Love you too, bye.” He closed the phone. “He’s worried about you.”

Angie shoved her makeup back into her purse and exited the car. “He doesn’t need to. I don’t know why I’m so upset. I guess I’m just stressed, you know? Stress-crying.”

“I don’t think that’s it.” Philip held the restaurant door open for her and AJ.

Her parents were waiting with the younger kids. It was clear they’d all come straight here. Mom was wearing slacks and a loose maternity blouse and her ring was on a chain around her neck; she worked in a halfway home for children in fractured families, so she kept her wedding band and engagement ring where the little kids wouldn’t get them. James and Johnny were in their elementary school uniforms. Dad was still in his suit and tie, with Will bouncing on his hip. Angie felt underdressed in jeans and a cardigan, and checked -- yep, Philip and AJ were both wearing nice jeans and button-ups.

Will saw them first. “Angie!”

James scuttled over. “Oh, man, you guys missed it! They tried to cancel our reservations ‘cause you guys were so late and Dad looked like he was going to kill ‘em. You called at just the right time, so Dad took the moral high ground and now we get a free appetizer. I thought Dad was going to burst a vein, it was so great!”

Dad did in fact look like he had just won an argument, and Mom looked exhausted. Regardless, they both embraced her tightly. Mom rested her chin on Angie’s curls. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah. I’m just tired.” She leaned against her mother, feeling the comforting smell of baby shampoo wash over her.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

They were led to a table and the waiter took their drink orders. Once the man had left, Dad began in Creole, _“What happened today, Ange?”_

 _“Nothing, Dad. I just have some bad news.”_ Angie said. _“It’s not a big deal. I’m just stressed, that’s all. I’m sorry I worried you.”_

Mom looked frustrated at not understanding the exchange, and AJ leaned in to quietly translate. Her brows furrowed. “No, Angie, please tell us. However you feel comfortable.”

She realised the offer her mother is making, and she appreciated it. She even considered the pros and cons of continuing in Creole: on one hand, no one else could understand and she liked Creole; on the other, AJ would need to relay everything to Mom anyway. “I got a C.”

“Is that all?” Dad seemed suspicious, and he leaned in closer.

“I got it in French, which I should be passing with an A, except I keep flunking the verbal exams, because I pronounce the words ’poorly.’” She made finger-quotes.

Mom went very still, and Angie’s brothers followed her lead. Dad could get touchy about this kind of thing.

“Which teacher is this?” Dad said lowly. He had his hands in his lap and was rapping his thigh with one forefinger.

“Ms. Smith.” Angie said.

Dad thought for a moment. “That’s Adams’s wife, right?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Angie said. “Please don’t do anything to her. She meant well.”

“O.K., O.K., I won’t say anything to her for the moment.” Dad said. “Did you talk to her about getting your grade up?”

“Yeah, she told me -- ” Shit, he was not going to like this. “ -- that you should stop speaking Creole with me and let her do her job so she can teach me proper French.”

“Creole is legitimate!” Mom almost jumped out of her chair. “That’s like telling someone who speaks Mandarin they don’t speak ‘proper Chinese’ because it’s not Cantonese.”

“I know, Mom.” Angie said quietly, but now they were on a role.

“Angie, look, I can pull you out of that class if you want. You can take Spanish, Laurens can help you, since it’s halfway through the semester. But you don’t need to put up with that.” Dad was red in the face and shaking.

The waiter returned with their drinks, and Dad was preoccupied for the moment making sure Will didn’t spill his soda all over his lap. Mom leaned in. “Sweetie, what do you want done?”

“I don’t know. I want this fixed.” Angie felt like she was running in circles. “It’s been a really long week"

Dad had finished with Will and Johnny, and turned his attention back to her. “What do you want to do about this?”

“I do want to finish French for the year.” Angie took a sip of her water. “I want to pass, but I don’t want to stop speaking Creole at home. I wish didn’t _have_ to take another language, though.”

“Alright.” Dad said. “I’ll take care of it for you. Don’t worry.” He pinched her cheek. “Don’t let them make you be somebody else.”

And there _they_ were again.

Johnny nudged her under the table with his foot. “What’s up, bud?”

“I made something for you and Will today at school.” he mumbled. He looked at Mom expectantly, and she rustled in her purse and handed a white envelope to him, which he then handed to her.

On the front in purple and blue crayon, he had scrawled: _To: Angie and Will, From: John._ Angie opened it up and pulled out a folded piece of printer paper with _Happy Birthday!_ on the front and an impressive army of little stick figures inside, each labelled with a name. “Wow, this is really good.” She ruffled his hair. “Thank you.”

He blushed. “I only had time to make one, because there were so many people.” Indeed, he had drawn the majority of their family, including Uncle Laurens and Dad’s other two friends. “Can you let Will see it now.”

“Of course.” She held it out to Dad. “Pass this to Will, please.”

He did. Will screeched in delight. Dad grinned. “This is pretty good. Angie, Will, what do you say we hang this on the fridge?”

They both nodded and Dad slid it into his suit pocket.

“Alright, let’s eat.”

**Author's Note:**

> The allusion to couples counselling is because the Reynolds Pamphlet still happens in this timeline.  
> If you have any questions about the story, feel free to ask.


End file.
